O Rest Beside the Weary Road
by Foibles and Fables
Summary: Mark gives Lexie her Christmas gift in Meredith's attic, a place of familiarity in the face of immense change. Takes place during Holidaze.


**A very merry and blessed Christmas to those of you who celebrate. To all others, a wonderful and blessed holiday season.**

**Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. This writing is for entertainment purposes only and is not for profit.**  
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"A snow globe."

Mark's gaze rose from his shoes to give Lexie a perplexed look. She didn't meet his eyes, though – they were fixed on the hemline of her shirt, where her fingers were busy twisting and tugging on a tiny loose thread.

Anything to alleviate the awkwardness that had fallen over them as soon as they reached their old hideout.

In the aftermath of the Christmas dinner, including everything with Bailey and her father, Mark had made eye contact with Lexie, conveying the silent message that they should steal away to Meredith's attic. So, they did, leaving Sloan to help with the dishes or sit on the couch and text (which is what had done for the majority of the night so far anyway).

Ever since, silence. Unnatural. Out of place. A prickly feeling in their veins, circulating from their chests to every part of their bodies. A few times, it looked like he wanted to say something to her. But Lexie could see it: a thought would pop into his mind, and his face would change from one of anxious determination to hesitance. His eyes would light up and then immediately darken again, like a candle ignited and then blown out.

It just wasn't the same as it was back then. When the mattress Lexie was sitting on wasn't bare. When they never would have spent their time together in the attic fully clothed. When she used to sneak him snacks from the kitchen and he used to sneak out like a teenager after his curfew. When, with every close call (Meredith calling a greeting or a goodbye to her, Derek's voice sounding a lot closer than it was), they would grin at one another, barely suppressing their laughter as Mark pretended to hide under the sheets, hands and lips roving over Lexie's naked body.

Not now, though. Not after the not-so-subtle arrival of a certain someone.

(and they both knew this. They just chose not to address it, because addressing it would undoubtedly make it real)

He watched her fiddle with her shirt for a little while longer, making no effort to walk across the room to where she was seated on her old bed. Instead, he leaned against the opposite wall and crossed his legs at the ankles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"What about a snow globe?" He plastered a small smile to his face, simply for the occasion.

Lexie glanced up at him for a second, eyes flickering to his and then right back down again. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth. She wrapped the thread around her forefinger and pulled.

"Sloan," she said, as if the name would explain everything about the seemingly random utterance. It didn't. Mark's eyebrow only rose higher. "Sloan bought you a snow globe for Christmas," Lexie sighed, trying not to feel annoyed (it was getting harder and harder with each passing day). It didn't even feel like Christmas, she thought. She could hear murmurs from downstairs, people chatting happily. There was snow on the ground and a tree in Meredith's living room, but still. The vaguely queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and the pressure between her shoulder blades definitely weren't Christmas-like at all. She kept talking, merely to fill the silence. Any sound, even her own voice, made her feel a little better. "Well, the _whole_ story is that I gave her fifty dollars to buy you a gift. And she got you a Seattle snow globe. And she didn't give me any change. Yet. But, as of right now, your daughter has made at least thirty dollars off of me."

Mark's bemused expression – eyebrow quirked at the same angle as the corner of his mouth, arms crossed over his chest – was almost natural and that made her feel a little better too. But there were the hints of dark circles under his eyes, ones that weren't there only a month ago, something that Lexie wouldn't have noticed if she didn't know him like she did. And maybe she was insane, but his hair looked a little grayer (she was probably insane).The dread flared up again. She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the downright frigid air of the attic.

"Just trying to make conversation." Lexie's voice was soft. Her fingers slipped; the thread finally snapped off of her shirt. She flicked it off of her thumb and it fell to the floor, invisible. _Just trying to make conversation_ because he obviously wasn't. And that terrified her. She knew he was going through something downright impossible. He sighed a lot more often, put himself in check more often. He was Mark, but not Mark. He was Mark trying to be something he hadn't been before, and he had never worn avoidance well. She swallowed, pulling her feet up onto the mattress and hugging her knees to her chest.

Mark uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way, uneasily. "You ruined the surprise," he told her with flat, mock disappointment, willing her to look at him again. She wasn't happy. He could tell. She hadn't been really happy, that _Lexie_ kind happy that many couldn't tolerate (but he could), since Sloan began her stay at their apartment. Some days, he could convince himself that it was the finger thing that soured her to the girl. But other days, he knew better.

Her mouth twitched in some suggestion of a smile. It was a start. She didn't say anything, however – it was his turn to overcompensate. "I highly doubt she would cheat you out of thirty dollars." With a hand to his chin, he reconsidered. "Okay, maybe she would. But I know she got you something too. Body spray. I saw it when she was wrapping it." Lexie imagined it was during one of his silent excursions to peer around a corner, studying her. He always did it when he thought Lexie and Sloan weren't looking. "It's the same kind she uses, I think. And I'm just going to say right now that you're not allowed to use it. I can't have you smelling like my daughter."

A real smile spread across Lexie's face, and she even snickered. Mark's heart soared. His Lexie was still in there somewhere, even if everything else had changed. "So, yeah, definitely a, what was it, _vapid_ thing for her to do, buying your gift with the money you gave her. It's the thought that counts, right? At least she has Christmas spirit," he commented with a shrug, feeding off of her laughter.

When she wasn't avoiding his eyes anymore, when she wasn't chewing on her lip or fidgeting nervously, Mark took the few steps over to her. He sat beside her, separated by a centimeter, and the old mattress sagged a bit under his weight. "Do you remember the last time we were up here?" he asked offhandedly, an introspective question spoken aloud, running his fingers along the cool, silky-smooth surface. They curved along a seam, and then he pushed down on it with the heel of his palm, listening to the springs creak exhaustedly. He wondered how nobody ever heard them up there.

"I remember _the_ times we were up here," Lexie replied, tilting her head to address him, reveling in the normalness of the conversation. Her eyes glinted in the dim lamplight. Instinctually, her hand tucked under his arm, finding the curve of his bicep over his sweater."The _last_ time?" She thought for a moment, but it was to no avail. "I really can't remember. It's all a blur now."

Mark nodded. It seemed like just last week he was fighting with Derek. It was as if time had been slogging and whizzing by all at once. The last several months were a whirlwind. Izzie's cancer. The wedding. George's death. The intern exam. The apartment. These were the placeholders of their life together, the ways by which they defined the last year and everything in it.

Sloan's arrival merely put everything into perspective.

It took Sloan's arrival to show them how much they had gained, how much they both had changed.

It took Sloan's arrival to show them how much they had to lose.

Mark scratched the back of his neck as silence reared its ugly head once more. He figured that then was as good of a time as any to do what he brought Lexie to the attic to do.

"Since we were speaking of gifts and the Christmas spirit and all that," he began nonchalantly, "I thought I'd give you your gift now. That's why I wanted you to come up here with me. We're alone here." He didn't say _at home, we aren't_. That was a given.

Lexie placed her feet on the floor, turning her body to face him. Mark reached under the mattress – he had been planning this all along, Lexie noted – and brandished a small, square package. It was wrapped in plain green paper, and a metallic red gift bow was stuck on top. With an uncharacteristically timid smile, he handed it to her, placing it gently in her hands. It was deceptively heavy.

She studied it for a moment, fighting back an excited smile. It was expertly-wrapped. Probably not the work of any man, let alone Mark. She could barely see the seam or the tape. "Are you going to open it, or are you looking to hang it in a museum?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in amazement. Lexie rolled her eyes, slid her finger into the slit, and made the first tear.

The heavy-duty, quality wrapping paper was peeled away to reveal a white cardboard box. "Aw, so sweet, a box," Lexie kidded, taking advantage of the light mood. She wasn't sure when it would return again.

"_Open_ the box," Mark instructed her with good-natured sarcasm. She did, and she reached inside to retrieve the source of the gift's weight. Her fingertips grasped the fuzzy but completely solid item. She removed it and placed the empty box beside her. Then, she looked at her other hand.

In her palm was a blue velveteen box.

Her breath hitched. All sensory functions seized, attacked by both exhilaration and panic (primarily, the latter).

Mark gently took the box from her hand. She followed it with her eyes, and her mouth hung open as she look at him, forehead wrinkled in bewilderment. Slowly, he opened the box, and its contents did nothing to calm her disorientation.

Inside of the box was a ring. Simple but frighteningly beautiful. A superbly-cut, tastefully-sized oval emerald, garnered with a tiny diamond on each side. White-gold band that glittered as Mark plucked the ring from its container, holding it out to her in the palm of his hand.

She stared at it for a long time. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage. She was afraid for her life, and irrationally. This wasn't the time to be afraid of that. But it wasn't the time for _that_ either. After another moment, the fright storming inside of her manifested itself physically. She ran her hands through her dark hair once, twice, before her eyes rose to meet Mark's, wide and crazy.

"Mark," she blurted squeakily. "That's a…that's a _ring_." She gave a single laugh at the absurdity. He, however, retained his straight face.

"Well, yeah," he said, looking down at it. "It is." Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Lexie opened and closed her mouth twice. Air rushed past her vocal cords, but no sound was produced. Finally, she stuttered almost incomprehensively, "This isn't…you aren't…_are_ you?"

"Oh, _no_," he told her quickly, shaking his head vigorously. She expelled a long breath that she hadn't noticed she was holding. Both Mark and Lexie glanced away for a second, embarrassed for going through this mix-up again.

"This isn't _a _ring," Mark reassured her, still holding the ring out to her. "It's just a ring."

"Okay," Lexie said shakily, still not making the move to take it from him.

"I know things have been hard, and they're probably going to get harder." Mark slid the ring between his fingertips, holding the emerald straight up. "But I think we can make it through. I want to."

Lexie watched him, observing the way he spoke. The way his eyes darted between her and the ring. The slight strain in his voice and jaw. She imagined the burn in his stomach as he spoke, shoving the words out, forcing himself to say things that Mark Sloan did not say. He was outside of his comfort zone, miles outside of it. The fact that he would still venture out of it for her sake made her stomach flip. If he was willing to be uncomfortable for her, it was only fair that she would be willing to be uncomfortable for him.

"And, I mean, I'm here," he continued, closing the ring in his fist. "I didn't run away to Arkansas, like I seriously considered doing. And I think it's because of you. Also, I don't know how I'd live with Sloan without you there as translator and diplomat." He cracked a smile, and, for a split second, it changed the pained look on his face. "If you left tomorrow, I don't know what I'd do. So this isn't an engagement ring. It's a reminder that, even though things might be hard and I might not be myself anymore, this is still real. If you're willing, I'm willing." He paused, taking a deep breath. "And maybe it means that someday, another ring will still be in order. _Someday_. Not anytime soon, I promise. I'm not ready either," he assured her. "But it's still a possibility, someday."

Forcing himself to ignore the repetition of _someday_ in his babbling, Mark uncurled his fingers and offered the ring to Lexie again. He almost couldn't watch. His heart pounded in his ears. He hoped she would take it, but he forced himself not to hope. Because if he hoped, then it wouldn't happen.

Life had only really gone his way in one circumstance.

After an excruciating moment of stillness, his hope against hope paid off. Lexie reached out, retrieving the ring from his hand. She slid it onto her right ring finger, holding it at arm's length away to view it. Then, she met his expectant gaze with shy eyes.

"It's beautiful, Mark," she whispered, allowing her hand to float back to her lap.

"Merry Christmas, Lexie," he replied softly, apologetically. "I know it's not what you're used to. I know it's not the one you wanted or expected. But…it's the one we have."

She kissed him, then, suddenly but tenderly – her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands settled on her waist as their lips pressed together, back in the same spot they were when things were simple.

Simple was easier. But not necessarily better.

They sat side-by-side on that bare, lumpy mattress for a long while. They said nothing. Their fingers were laced, and he squeezed her hand every so often, making double and triple sure that she was still there and wasn't about to bolt. Her head was on his shoulder as she fought back tears. Guilty for her frustration. Ashamed for being jealous and secretly holding the situation against him. Wishing she hadn't wished the current situation was different. Anger at herself for letting the situation infect what was between her and Mark, anger at him for doing the exact same thing. Completely overwhelmed, completely unexpressed. The ring on her right hand felt strange, but, then again, what _didn't_ feel strange anymore?

They got the best of her. She broke down, weeping gently, and Mark made haste in wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips to her temple again and again.

He knew exactly how she felt.

Lexie's frame shook with quiet, weary sobs and exhausted I'm sorry's, and Mark held her tight. There they sat in their attic, terrified of the unfamiliar territory. The game had been changed. They would have to change as well.

But, just like in the past days, they wondered how long it would be until they were discovered – until Meredith would burst into their haven from the rest with reports of Sloan's latest aggravating act on her lips.


End file.
